Haunted Wood Trails of Fire

His eyelids flutter open with a frustrated huff of breath to follow. Why can’t he ever sleep? He’s been lying on the ledge he’s made his home for about an hour now, unable to catch much needed rest. The thought of chasing sleep seems fruitless to the monochromatic wolf, so the urge to walk about aimlessly wins. Rising up from his nest, pouncing down the rocks, he meets the floor of the grotto. The restlessness beneath his muscles take him far off to the river that bares fresh water for their pack–Phantasm River.

The blackness of the surrounding area makes his skin crawl and he decides that he loves it. Even with the moon up ahead, the light is struggling to reach the forest floor even in less tree-populated areas. For the fog that’s settled over this land is only one fit for nightmares. Ones where monsters hide in the dark and creep around corners to set their beady eyes upon the unsuspecting. The large male fits in nicely.

Then not too far off in the distance does he see something lurking there. Perhaps it’s one of the many unsuspected and horrid Santiago is the monster. Perhaps it’s the other way around. 

Overall, he won’t find out until he investigates. So investigates he does, shuffling over to the thing in a brisk trot, the wolf cares not for any trivial sneaking. This is his home now and he will defend it with his cast iron brawn.

Traveling that much closer Santiago finds another wolf smaller than he and his usual menacing smirk crawls along his face. The wolf has distinctly feminine characteristics and Santi has no trouble happily eyeing them down. Although they do seem panicked if anything. At a quick look at their coat they seem tad bit ragged–rough around the edges one might say. A perfect victim. Or maybe just something to play with.

To his dismay, it seems their warlord has already made it to his “unsuspecting victim”. Yet that doesn’t mean he can’t have fun. So unaware of the conversation had between the two. He makes his grand entrance, he saunters into the strangers point of view, only a couple meters ahead. The black and white wolf seems to appear from the fog that crawls low to the forest floor. His head level with his body, shining–dangerous teeth gleaming in the low light, he looks positively devilish.

“Oh.” He rolls out in faux astonishment, as if stumbling upon the stranger by accident. “Now who do we have here? He’s not bothering you is he, Valour? He hums smoothly, accent rich and voice deep. His silvery hues never leave the others form, rather they move to shamelessly rake down the strangers body. “You’ve come to play, no?” He asks with a cock of his brow and a inquisitive tilt of his head.